The Baron ignored the orc slave’s exhausted condition and addressed the two Anubian guards. “I’m here to see Viscount Tides. He’s expecting me.”

  Both guards inclined their heads. The elder man’s voice was deep and resonant. “Yes, my lord. Viscount Tides awaits. Please, proceed.”

  The pair heaved open the great iron gates. Aether-steam hissed as the locking mechanism depressurised, and the gates opened. Baron Greaves strode forward, flanked by his retinue; the orc slave shuffled behind, wary and spent.

  Jack lingered in the shadows as Greaves disappeared deeper into the compound. The heavy gates slammed shut behind them with a final, echoing clang and a hiss of aether-steam as the lock engaged and repressurised.

  He began circling the perimeter, scanning for an alternative way inside. It didn’t take long before he found a promising entry point. A sparse copse of young trees clustered against the red wall, their proximity offering the perfect cover to climb over the wall unnoticed.

  Jack wasn’t a thief or a rogue, but he’d studied their methods. He’d practised slipping into places he shouldn’t be. Scaling the eight-foot wall with the aid of a young, unruly tree, he dropped into Viscount Tides’ compound and crouched behind a bush.

  The Gods must have been in a good mood. Not far away, he caught a glimpse of the orc warrior entering a large barn.

  He paused, doubt gnawing at him. What am I doing? He’d acted on impulse without thinking why he was following the Baron. If he were caught trailing a noble or sneaking into their compound, he’d be lucky to keep his head. Worse, he might endanger his family.

  Jack crouched behind a bush, observing the barn the orc had entered. There could be answers within… But my family. He clenched the dagger at his side, finding comfort in the damaged hilt.

  “What if this is real?” he whispered, willing it all to be real. He’d been awake for hours since his miraculous resurrection, and little of his experiences matched his first life. The thought circled. Is this real? Is this a dream? If he did nothing his family could die at the hands of Greaves. I need more information.

  Jack took another look across the compound; nobody was in sight, and there were plenty of places to hide. He whispered, “Knowledge itself is power, and although a country may be weak, still, if it possesses but a modicum of knowledge, the enemy will not be able to completely overthrow it.”

  Finding courage in the ancient saying, he sprinted to a nearby line of bushes and ducked low. His heart pounded as he crept from one patch of cover to the next. He passed a privy with a sign on the door that read, ‘Danger! Do NOT Enter!’. After crawling behind a flowerbed, he leaned against the wooden side of the barn.

  Up close, he saw it was a large hay barn. He scouted the perimeter for an entry point and settled on the hay door, the large opening on the second story providing entry to the hayloft. Luck was on his side. The rope and pulley mechanism used for hay deliveries was extended, allowing him to climb it with ease.

  A few minutes later, a panting Jack lay collapsed at the edge of the hayloft, chest heaving. By the Gods. How was I so damn weak as a kid?

  As he rested, he could hear people talking below. Due to the wooden floors and hay—the hayloft was around a third full, with curing hay stacked against the outer walls—the sounds were too muffled to understand.

  He took a deep breath and appreciated the smell of hay before moving around the hayloft in search of a way to see what was happening below. The floorboards were rough, with gaps between them. After a few tries, he found an opening wide enough to see the barn floor below.

  Jack’s eyes widened as he saw the orc warrior in the centre of a rune formation. Below him was a set of twelve identical glowing, white runes painted onto the barn floor to form a circle. The rune formation layout reminded him of the spokes of a wooden wagon wheel, where the wheel rim was replaced by a dozen runes.

  In the centre of the formation, the bound orc was laid across a central symbol, which, through white lines, connected with the twelve surrounding runes. Before each outer rune stood a well-dressed noble. He spotted Baron Greaves among them. All twelve were chanting.

  Jack’s eyes narrowed. He recognised parts of the chant; it was ancient elven. He’d never heard it spoken aloud, but he knew the cadence from the blood magic grimoire he and his father had translated for Baron Greaves, word by agonising word.

  He sat up straight in shock. “By the Gods,” he whispered. “That’s a forbidden blood magic ritual.” Jack couldn’t understand why a group of privileged nobles would take such a huge risk. If caught, they’d be put to death like anyone else caught performing blood magic. Their noble titles wouldn’t save them from the Inquisition.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  When he realised what was unfolding, he was struck by an unexpected detail. None of them wore identical black hoods or robes to conceal their identities. I always pictured cultists in uniform robes wielding evil magic. Instead, these secretive figures were dressed in ordinary noble attire. The men wore tailored suits and polished top hats, while the women appeared in modest, conservative dresses paired with hats. Their clothing was at home in a temple or at the royal court, not in the blood magic ritual they were performing.

  He looked back through the hole. The twelve nobles were still chanting, their eyes were closed, and they appeared to be in a trance-like state. His mind raced for a plan. If I could get an inquisitor here in time, Baron Greaves would be executed.

  Jack shook his head in resignation. It would take at least an hour to even get to speak to an inquisitor. The ritual would be over by then and without evidence, an inquisitor wouldn’t believe a teenager spouting nonsense about a dozen nobles performing a blood magic ritual on an enslaved orc warrior in a barn in the middle of the capital city. Even he thought it sounded ridiculous.

  Not to mention, two inquisitors had investigated his home early that day. Fuck! Why aren’t they investigating this instead of me?

  He looked back through the hole. The nobles were still in a trance and chanting the spell, he soon realised they were repeating the phrase over and over again. Without thinking, he gripped the handle of his dagger.

  What should I do? Wracked with indecision, all he could do was watch. His heart beat faster as he listened to the ancient elvish blood magic spell echo in his mind. Subconsciously, he started to mouth the magic chant like he was part of the ritual.

  A few minutes pass before Jack and the twelve nobles stopped chanting. The nobles each knelt down, drew a dagger from their clothing and held it above the rune before them. As if possessed, all twelve of them stabbed their daggers into the rune in perfect synchrony and said, “Chronos sphere.” Twelve scrolls disintegrated in their hands, and the white runes glowed an ominous red before the entire formation lit up.

  The orc screamed in agony.

  Jack watched on in horror as the powerful orc was drained of life. Over the course of thirty seconds, the warrior aged and then withered away. All that was left was dust, a pile of tattered leather armour and a filthy slave collar, its runes and aether conduits spluttering as if short-circuited.

  As the ominous red glow faded, Jack felt a wave of power flow through him. He sighed as tiredness and fatigue were washed away like he’d had a good night’s rest. He looked down to see he’d drawn and stabbed his new dagger into the wood flooring at his knees.

  What happened? He had no recollection of even drawing the dagger. Shaken, he pulled it free and sheathed his blade before looking through the hole again. The dozen nobles below hadn’t heard him, they were pulling their daggers from the barn floor and hiding them back within their clothing.

  “Did anyone else feel something strange this time?” asked a noble who Jack didn’t recognise.

  Several nodded, including Baron Greaves.

  “Yes. Something felt off.” Another middle-aged noble with long silver hair, suggesting some elven ancestry, and very high-quality clothing approached the remains of the orc warrior. Even the white paint used to draw the runes and lines was gone. He removed his top hat and kicked the pile of armour and dust as if searching for something. “I can’t place it…” He looked up towards where Jack was still peering through the hole. “It felt like…” He looked back down towards the pile of dust while tapping his chin. “It felt like we lost some power this time. Did you all gain a skill?”

  Jack felt his heart stop as the noble’s dark eyes looked his way. Maybe my presence caused a problem with the ritual. A bolt of panic shot through him. They might check the area for intruders.

  As the lord’s dark, searching gaze swept by, he released the breath he was holding and decided it was time to leave. With a dozen nobles below, their personal guards wouldn’t be too far away. With a few quick orders, a couple of dozen guards could be searching the compound for intruders, and Jack would be in trouble.

  Before exiting the barn, he took a good look at each of the twelve nobles to memorise their faces; he recognised a few of them.

  Jack scaled down the rope outside the hay door; it was far easier going down. Before his feet even touched the ground, he was formulating plans to anonymously inform the Inquisition there was an evil blood cult within the city.

  While crawling past the flowerbed, he heard footsteps drawing near. In a burst of panic, he searched for a hiding place and chose to conceal himself in the privy. A chill ran down his spine as he reached for the door handle. A feeling of dread overwhelmed him, the hairs on his neck standing at attention.

  Frozen in place by fear, he felt as though he were watching himself from outside, witnessing events he couldn’t control.

  He saw himself hiding in the privy, dagger drawn. In a series of fast, unsettling flashes, he watched one of the twelve nobles enter the privy. Another flash of light and he was struggling with the noble as desperate cries for help rang out. Another flash revealed a gruesome scene of the noble lying dead on the ground with Jack clutching his bloody dagger. The final images depicted him being chased by guards through Viscount Tides’ compound, ending with his lifeless body slumped against the wall, with a nearby guard brandishing a bloodstained sword.

  What the hell! Jack was trembling with fear. He ducked behind the privy, his heart hammering in his ears as he crouched, frozen like a rabbit in a wolf’s sight.

  Damn it. What the hell was that? He grabbed the hilt of his dagger for comfort and cursed himself. I shouldn’t have come… my family. Panic took over as his fight-or-flight instinct kicked in. He heard the privy door open, followed by a man sighing as he relieved himself.

  He took a deep breath to calm his racing mind while sheathing the dagger he’d instinctively drawn. Thank the Gods. After the scare, he almost felt he needed to use the privy himself.

  After what felt like a lifetime of waiting, the noble exited and slammed the wooden door.

  Jack jumped at the noise but remained silent. His heart still pounding, he waited a few more minutes before making his way back towards the copse of trees without further incident.

  After catching his breath and calming his frayed nerves, he stepped out of the trees and headed back into the city. It was time to find a temple and choose his class.